


An Unfortunate Stark Gala

by wherermysocks



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherermysocks/pseuds/wherermysocks
Summary: When Peter Parker, biological son of Tony Stark, gets kidnapped alongside his father, some bonding is overdue.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 87
Collections: The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange





	An Unfortunate Stark Gala

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bethy_277](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethy_277/gifts).



> I'm so happy my first ever published fic gets to be part of such a cool event!  
> This fic was stressful to write because:  
> a) English is not my first language, and I still have trouble identifying tenses, so I'm sorry if the tenses in the fic are wack  
> b) the person I got is an author I regularly read, and have even read several of her fics multiple times, cause she's that good  
> Apart from that, writing this fic gave me huge levels of happy brain chemicals, so I hope you enjoy it!

The windows outside were sprinkled with light rain, it’s dull thudding a calming sensation to Peter’s nerves. While the sight outside might have been one to wonder at, he simply couldn’t find it in himself to raise his head, instead prompting to stare at his fumbling hands, taking extra care to trace each scar and memory that resurfaced. The limo was prestigious, a yellow-ish low lighting, probably chosen so as to cast a tranquil atmosphere. May’s dress, red with rhinestones sewed carefully onto the fabric, sprayed across the carpeted floor at the corner of his vision, but he considered that maybe she’ll notice him turning his head to awe at it, and then she’ll strike up conversation; he wasn’t really in the mood to talk, and much less answer questions he had no interest in hearing.

He had no idea what Gala’s were like. A common misconception, being a rich man’s child, but Peter had no fancy for parties where the higher ups of society mingled with plasticity present in every moment. That wasn’t to say he enjoyed teenage parties either; those had blasting music, irritating to his ears; they were chaotic and unpredictable, one moment being fun and the next panicking over a fellow young adult deciding to wreak havoc. No, Peter liked small gatherings, close friends in a cozy apartment, eating grandiose amounts of junk food and lounging with no thought for fake pleasantries nor the paranoia to watch your back.

The thought of being surrounded by discussions too out of his understanding to follow, the humiliation of not knowing the etiquette, and the frankly obvious realization of those around that this was no Stark, but a poor lad who happened to be dragged into the life by an irresponsible father.

His stomach was queasy, and his eyes were full of unshed tears. He could feel the creeping sob rising through his throat, and they weren’t even there! What would he do once stepping out of the car? Just the thought of all the flashes of the outside reporters caused his legs to shake.

There was no grand staircase leading into the building because the gala was being held at Stark Tower. So the normal sidewalk which led into a very not-normal building had been refurbished and decorated to its full extent. Cars lined the road, all looking very expensive and giving an insight into who the people attending were. The crowd that marred the sidewalk buzzed with activity, and the entrance, which had a red carpet leading out, closed off by red velvet ropes, was overwhelmed with flashing lights and shouted questions. Truly, Peter had only seen these kinds of sights on televised award shows. It looked even more terrifying in real life.

Their limo parked a bit ways away, behind enough cars to go undetected. Happy lowered the divider and cast them a glance. “You guys ready back there?”

May, almost as if sensing his distress, reached over and clasped his hand. “We’re ready. Let’s rock this joint,” she sent him an encouraging smile, before shoo-ing him, and with that he scooted across the long seats before stepping out. Stretching out his hand, Peter supported her as she stepped off, and even though he wanted to believe he was courteous, he simply did it to prolong having to turn around and face the crowd. Happy and May struck up conversation, and he fiddled with his suit pockets, keeping his back turned to the mountain of people for as long as possible.

It was only when May took the lead, walking beside Happy, did Peter continue after them, still stubbornly keeping his head down. His black dress shoes shined quite interestingly.

Slowly, more people popped up into his peripheral vision, and each cluster made him sweatier. The blinding flashes that caught them at the entrance felt suffocating. These reporters probably didn’t even know who they were, seeing as Peter was never publicly announced as Tony Stark’s son. They just took the shot to capture every moment of the event.

Somehow, that thought calmed him down. No one would post, much less write, an article about some unknown guest at the Gala. In fact, they would probably assume he was the family member of an invited employee. Now a bit more relaxed, although still with ragged breaths, he could look up, honestly a bit interested in what celebrities face on the daily. However, the sight was so chaotic, he didn’t even want to continue watching.

Walking up the small steps and past the revolving doors, the sudden change in atmosphere caused him to look around in amazement. A falter in his step was enough for May to notice, and with a quick side glance, she looped her arm into his, pulling him out of the doorway, so as to not obstruct the entrance.

Happy turned to them, although Peter paid no attention to his swords as he took in the light sounds of utensils clinking and soft classical music over the speakers. “I’ll be heading out now. Tony will meet up with you later. Have a good night.” With that, he walked away, tall form seemingly a bit more intimidating in the workplace environment.

He wasn’t usually that soft-spoken, but May was present, and Peter wasn’t about to chalk his behavior up to coincidence.

May turned to him, red dress swishing in all its sparkly glory, and raised an eyebrow. “So, what should we do?”

His stomach dropped, clasping her hands frantically, “What? What do you mean, you’re the adult! You should know what to do.”

She laughed and squeezed his hands briefly. “I doubt there’ll be anyone your age around here. Why don’t we pick at the buffet? Then we can go look for Tony.”

The thought that she’d be around was calming enough, and with a satisfied nod, they went forward. True to the plan, they spent around 20 minutes just picking at the banquet, marveling at all the extravagant treats, and unashamed to gorge themselves. The people around did pay them a few glances, but ultimately left to mingle, grabbing a plate with what seemed much too little. It was going well; Peter had found his favorite food, pumpkin cookies with a strawberry jam, and was on his way to fill May’s plate with them.

Stealing a glance at where she was, he saw another woman approach and strike up a conversation. In her flurry of nerves, May flailed her hands, until both were laughing like old friends. As he got closer, he heard small tidbits of conversation, seemingly getting along quite well.

With a quick touch to her elbow and an ‘I’ll be back’, he went off in search of the bathroom. Leaving the lobby, he stepped into one of the nearby corridors. They hadn’t been decorated, completely white, with dim glows lining the wall in yellow. It was only till he met a guard and asked for directions, did he figure out how to get to the restroom.

Walking out, he started his trek back to the Gala.

“Peter!” Tony’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. The hallway was deserted except for them. As the man walked over, he adjusted his wrist cuffs, a lazy smile present on his face. Peter could see then why people were intimidated by him.

Tony had always been Tony in his eyes; his rather absent father, who while he loved greatly, could never be considered dad. He was sarcastic and, in some cases, awkward, but always loving and always supportive. There was a clear boundary between them, and the constant pressure to repair whatever it was only served to create a bigger gap. Peter regularly wondered if it would ever change.

However, at that moment, with the dim lighting casting a glow around him, his stature looked infinitely greater. There was no hesitance in his steps, not like the uncertainty that clawed at Peter every time the man was around.

Now within arms reach, Tony patted Peter’s shoulder, immediately fixating on and rectifying Peter’s tie. “Enjoying the party?” he asked, tone low as if to keep the words from reaching nonexistent ears.

“Yeah,” Peter said, swallowing the lump in his throat, “the food’s really good, I ate like, three, cupcakes, and then some chocolate bananas. Oh, and the strawberry tarts…”

Tony kept his head down, trying to stifle his chuckles. Once he looked up, there was a certain look in his eyes, brows pulled down, and for a moment Peter thought he looked sad, but then the man was caressing his cheek with toughened hands, and grinning mischievously. He dramatically pulled his handkerchief from his blazer pocket, giving it a small swoosh before rubbing his fingers with it. “Kid, you had chocolate on your face, anyone could tell.”

Feeling his ears burn, Peter ducked his head, one hand frantically rubbing at his face, looking for the already cleaned away food. An inner war raged in his mind, choosing between going to drown his tears in food or pestering May to let them leave, even though an hour had barely passed since their arrival.

“I didn’t see you out there.”

Tony sighed, “Yeah, some of our shareholders wanted a VIP room so I’m babysitting them. Pepper should be in there but I’m being punished for walking out on last week’s meeting.”

At this, Peter raised an eyebrow, “the meeting you skipped to bring my homework?”

Tony shrugged, seemingly unfazed, “point is, I don’t think I’ll be going out anytime soon. Feel free to do what you like, don’t sit around waiting for me.”

“I’m sorry, if- if I had just remembered I left-”

“No apologies Pete,” the man flashed him a smirk, “my decision, plus I was gonna get dragged into it anyway. Honestly, they’re a pack of piranhas.”

With a last pat on the shoulder, the man departed, disappearing around the corner. Peter took a last glance over his shoulder before going back out to the lobby.

The music was still the same, and the crowd mingled as servers walked around in a graceful fashion. Making his way over to the banquet, he noticed May and the other woman had disappeared, so resigning himself to eating alone, he stood there for a long while, picking up pumpkin cookies and cupcakes without much thought, not really even self-conscious anymore.

That was how he passed the time, until spotting May sitting by herself at a corner table, drink in hand getting swooshed lazily. Rushing to sit beside her, he crashed into the table peg, unceremoniously slamming into the chair, the force sending him into a gravity-defying balance match on the back legs.

With the speedy hands of a woman used to dealing with hyperactive kids, May gripped the back of his chair and sent him forward, Peter’s body jerking in a comedic replica of a bobblehead. With a highly pitched giggle and toothy grin, he collected himself and leaned into her bare shoulder, already melting into her hardened hands, as she skillfully maneuvered his curls with bright red nails. “Wanna go home?”

She said it so nonchalantly, Peter barely turned his head to murmur a small “can we?”.

She shrugged and whispered a reassuring “only if you want to”. That was a thing with May. Ned frequently complained when recounting family gatherings he had gone to on weekends, because his mother always stayed an hour more to continue chatting. On the contrary, May left the moment Peter showed an ounce of discomfort. It always occurred to him that she might be leaving to please him, and that always brought an ounce of guilt. Peter silently hoped she would ask for a few more minutes because then she could enjoy herself, and Peter could recall this gala with at least a semblance of happy thoughts.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, she chuckled lightly, wrist tingling with the sound of bracelets clanging, as she brought it up to her lips, “truthfully, I’ve been wanting to drink myself to death here.”

Casting a glance, he watched in silent admiration as her eyeshadow glimmered when the light hit just right, and not for the first time recognized how pretty his aunt truly was. “All they talk about is other people’s company stock,” she shook her head, eyes glancing at a nearby group who had broken into loud laughter, although some sounded more forced than others. “What’s the fun in that? Here I am, wondering how many of those cupcake pops I can eat, and hoping I break a heel so I have an excuse to go barefoot.”

Listening to her voice soothed him, the tightness that had been gripping at his chest ever since his arrival dispersing; not completely, but enough to allow a shaky breath. Her hands carded through his hair, unfiltered nonsense washing over his ears. He relaxed, molding into her embrace. As if sensing his distress, she hushed for a moment, before whispering ever so slightly, “honestly, I have no idea how your dad does it.”

The reminder that they were there because his father, Tony Stark, had decided to invite him served for a second of resentment. Ultimately, Peter knew Tony only had good intentions. The man had made an effort to be in his life, whether that be sending gifts on Christmas day, to suddenly appearing just before midnight at his already-over birthday party, to randomly picking him up after school on Fridays. They had come a long way since supervised visitations. Still, the small hateful thought, that Tony hadn’t been in his life to prepare him for this- whatever this was- wormed its way through his head.

“I wanna go home,” it sounded like a whine even to Peter himself, but he was tired, of being on the brink of an anxiety attack, of eating stupid frosted cupcakes, of pumpkin cookies and classical music, and sparkly dresses that hurt his eyes every time the light hit.

“Alright,” she whispered, reaching down to pat his knee, “up and at ‘em. Go get Tony so we can say goodbye.” Then, like an afterthought, she included, “let’s get Thai. I’m sick of ouer d'oeuvres.”

The grin that rose on his face felt like the first in the whole night, which it probably was, but May was May, and she was the best person in his life. And how could you not smile, when the best person in your life is beside you?

Without a second thought, he hurried, looking like a stiff penguin, across the floor to the corridors.

His neck hairs pricked up, and goosebumps ran up his arm. His chest compressed like the wind was knocked out of him, and in his hurry to turn around, he slid and almost tumbled. The panic flaring at the back of his mind felt like a drum, or maybe that was the sound of his heart beating. He caught sight of May, standing by the table while looking through her purse. That was when the crowd rose into a frenzy, and just then did the ringing of a shot reach his ears.

It was only a moment, but in those seconds, the lobby became chaotic.

The bad guys looked like something out of a movie. With ski masks faded into an ugly black, and clothing ranging from simple jeans and a t-shirt to the occasional button-up shirt and slacks, it seemed like anyone in the crowd could simply pull out a weapon. The screams almost drowned out the sound of breaking crystal, but there was no cover for the pieces that rained down, slashing at innocent passersby.

Muffled were the sounds of the chaos, a clear ringing pestering the side of his head. Peter tried to walk, but every few steps came with a bump or stumble into another panicking person. It didn’t take long for the itch to curl up on the floor to spread through his chest, numbing his limbs. A distant thought warned against the idea, but as his eyes raked over the chaos, all he could focus on was ways to hide. He almost chided himself for such cowardly thoughts. He was Spiderman! Shouldn’t he be looking for a way to help these people? But he wasn’t Spiderman right now. He was Peter Parker, a kid from Queens; albeit the son of a billionaire, a bastard child with nothing special to his name. He didn’t even have the Stark name in his file.

Right now, all he had was Parker luck. But Parker luck was a universally acclaimed misfortune. It killed his parents and shot Ben, and now it had him confronting one of the masked men.

The man was a few inches taller, buff in all senses of the word, with nasty scars and hands that looked to be made out of metal rather than toughened skin. He seemed to catch Peter’s eye, and immediately shifted onto his back foot, shoulders relaxed, clearly not threatened by the sight of a teenager. Peter’s skin prickled; he could feel the sweat on his forearms, the loose thread in his sock, the brushing of his slacks on his knees. As the man’s hand came up with glinting silver, he zoned in on the Stark Inc. banner over the man’s shoulder. It was beautiful, displayed on a piece of expensive blue velvet fabric, draped over the veranda; and while the crowd around it seemed to blur, it stood out in all it’s golden calligraphy.

A chair came overview, blocking the banner, and smashed down onto the man’s back. He stumbled, dropping the knife, and Peter, while shocked, kicked it away without much thought. Whipping his head to the man, who had already recovered and was fighting his assailant, he could make out Tony Stark’s figure.

A surge of adrenaline, a need to do something, coursed through his body.

Peter almost raised his wrist out of habit, but the absence of the web-shooters pressing against his skin made him rethink. Looking around himself for something to throw, he spotted a knocked over champagne cup, liquid spilling out slowly. Without much thought, he picked it up and hurled it at the man grappling with Tony. It smashed on his head, and in his stumble, Tony pulled an arm free and elbowed the man’s back, sending him toppling to the side. Regaining his balance, Tony stepped out of the way, and pointed his gauntlet, a thin rope shooting out of it and wrapping the man in breakneck speed.

The sigh of relief got stuck in his throat when making eye contact with Tony. Peter made sure the man hadn’t ever known about his Spiderman escapades, but still, his piercing stare from across the room almost made it seem as if Tony was looking through him, not at Peter, but into his core, where Spiderman hid.

Without a word, the man hurried over to Peter, casting an arm over his shoulder. Heads knocking together, they followed swiftly through the crowd, all the sound making it incredibly hard to hear what Tony was saying, even with his super hearing. “Kid, I need you to get Aunt May and go up the tower. Once you reach the suite, tell Friday to initiate Lockdown protocol.”

Peter almost surprised himself with the question, but the thought that Tony wouldn’t be up there, safe, with them, was an unsurpassable wave in his chest. “What about you? You’re not- you’re not gonna stay down here, right?”

The man looked at him with gentle eyes. How many times had he looked at him that way?

“I gotta help down here,” he spoke softly, never breaking eye contact with Peter. The man didn’t hug him before walking through the crowd, nor did he say ‘I love you’. He just walked away. Perhaps he did that too, all those years ago.

Running into the corridor, it was suspiciously empty. A few guards appeared here and there, rushing to do their job, none sparing him a glance. He entered the bathroom, shaky hands pulling out his phone. With all the adrenaline, he feared breaking his phone from how hard he tapped the screen.

The other side crackled, before May’s voice rang into his ear, “Peter! Are you okay, where are you, you have to leave the lobby, get to the-”.

“May,” his voice was surprisingly steady, “I love you. I’m going to help Tony, and I’ll meet you at the suite.”

He could hear her protests through the speaker, but the beeping of the call disconnecting was enough.

He didn’t have his web-shooters, but he could still help. He was sticky and had super strength. A knock-off Captain America. He could use a table as protection. It’d be fine.

Determined, Peter pushed the door open, before hurrying back in. If he strained his ears enough, distant voices reached his ears.

“Pull him up, you moron!”

“You’re the one not lifting his legs!”

“Would you both shut up!?”

He looked around him. There was nothing at hand that could help him take these guys down, much less cover his face. Creeping towards the door, he pushed it ever so slightly, wincing at the creak it made. Every step made him hold his breath, his whole body vibrating with nerves. Wall crawling wasn’t an option, his identity could be revealed. Resolving himself to sneaking, he peaked at the trio walking through the hallway, struggling to lift the man in their arms.

Watching them eased some of his nerves; the sight was a funny one, and they didn’t seem to be that aware of their surroundings.

Just as he was about to step around the corner, his senses flared, and a quick whip to face whatever was behind him led to his face meeting the butt of a gun.

Now, waking up in a speeding car wasn’t in today’s schedule, but his agenda was never short of unwelcome surprises, after all, it’s pages were filled to the brim with Parker Luck doodles, which meant any coherent schedule or itinerary was covered in excessive lines of artful misfortune.

The edges of Peter’s vision blurred, but he could make out three heads, two in the seats in front of him, one even farther away, eyes forward as he steered. A groan threatened to leave his lips, but it was muffled by the tightness of a gag pulling at his cheek skin. The ski-masked men didn’t seem to notice his shuffling, heads never turning to look back. From Peter’s position, if he craned his head just the tiniest bit, he could outline the guns propped between their legs, both big and bulky. The need for such grandness was baffling, a handgun seeming a better idea in a moving vehicle, but Peter didn’t know enough about the workings of a criminal syndicate to judge.

It wasn’t till the car jerked to the side, did Peter notice the unconscious body next to him. Goatee and slick suit were enough a giveaway to tell him it was Tony. His hands were in similar fabric binds, and the same gag wrapped around his head.

Peter felt the urge to comment that binding feet was Villainy 101, but it served as an advantage at the moment, so he’d keep quiet. Actually, the quip would’ve been muffled anyway. When the car rattled again, one of the guys in the middle threw a hand up, scowling as he shouted at the one up front, “Can you not dodge the potholes, asshole!?”

The one at the wheel didn’t bother with a response, merely raising his hand and giving the middle finger.

From the corner of his vision, he saw Tony’s shiny dress shoes move, and with a quick whip of his head, there sat his father staring at him with a calculating gaze. He shifted his eyes to the men with them, before raising an eyebrow at Peter. Holding his wrists up, like an offering, he furrowed his eyebrows as if to say _‘come on, don’t just sit there.'_

Peter made quick work of untying Tony’s wrist binds before the man returned the favor. They didn’t take off the gags, in fear of the driver looking through the rearview mirror. Tony motioned to the fabric in their hands and pointed at the men. To Peter’s mortification, the man pulled at the sides of the fabric, all the while staring at the man’s necks.

Affronted, Peter shook his head quickly. Choking them seemed too harsh, they could die. Tony furrowed his eyebrows, a frustrated look crossing his face. Then he raised an eyebrow. _‘Do you have any other idea?’_

Looking away, Peter drooped his eyes and shook his head.

Satisfied, Tony nodded before holding up three fingers. _‘In the count of three.’_

They exchanged glances. Quickly roping the men’s throat, the men immediately began to struggle, with the driver noticing the commotion and shouting, although his words didn’t register. Peter’s victim scratched at his arms, which stung, before pulling a hand back and aiming a shaky punch to Peter’s position. Ducking to the other side, he barely dodged Tony’s elbow as he struggled to hold the other ski-masked man.

When his whole body began to sag, the man made a last attempt. Forgetting his hold on Peter’s arm, he reached out and cocked his gun. With amazing speed and no hesitation, he reversed the barrel to face himself and Peter, and shot.

Peter’s hairs stood, feeling the whiz of the bullet pass by his head. A loud ringing took over, and in his surprise, his hold loosened on the fabric. The car swerved to the right, sending him flying, knocking his head on the window. Dizziness crashed down, the world doing a three-sixty, hip digging painfully into the belt buckle and feet going up. Faintly, he could feel Tony’s own body crash into his.

The men upfront also seemed to lose their cool, all scrambling to right themselves. The one driving seemed to wrestle with the steering wheel. The one he’d had a hold on had lost his hold on the gun, clutching his ear and panting out groans of pain. The one Tony had, now free but also victim to the shot’s loud ringing, held his head in his hands, body swaying with the force of the car.

The once bumpy road turned even bumpier, jostling the vehicle with no remorse. Nausea crept up his throat, and if it wasn’t for all the movement, he was sure he’d already have vomited. Then, as if a miracle bestowed upon him, all movement seized. He felt weightless, which might’ve been his head playing tricks on him, except everything seemed to go in slow motion and he noticed the moment Tony’s eyes widened, before the man barreled onto him, hands wrapping tightly around his form. Head ducked into the man’s shoulder, he could faintly see through the side window trees flipping upside down. Only then did he close his eyes in anticipation.

Impact after impact, the flipping vehicle seemed to go on forever. His hair flew up, and the pressure pressed him into his seat, Tony’s body thrown over him. Distinctly, he could remember the dust particles that stuck to his body, irritating his eyes and nose. In the next moment, all movement had seized.

His hands were shaking, even as they gripped his father’s sweater. The smell of gas trickled around him, and without much thought, as if on autopilot, he urged his father through the back window, smashed until nothing remained. Both stumbled, Peter almost faceplanting if not for Tony’s hold on his arm. Neither uttered a word as they looked at the wreck.

Exhaustion gripped his body; with a sigh, he moved to a nearby tree and sat on the cold soil, slipping the gag over his head. He discarded it somewhere next to him. They were in a ditch off the side of the road. The overhead canopy seemed to span endlessly, lining the road till disappearing over the horizon and stretching out, creating a dark, humid forest.

Tony paced in front of him, gag already hanging around his throat, covered in grime. Blood spilled from the scratches on his hand, most likely inflicted when trying to suffocate the ski-masked man. Peter had similar ones, although they were more bruises, and spanned his forearm.

His father pulled out something from his pocket; looking closely, it seemed to be his phone. Another failing grade on the villain’s part; surely by then, they were dropping out of the course. His inner monologue prompted a snort from Peter, and Tony turned to give him a concerned glance.

Tony pocketed the phone, a small tch coming from his mouth, before finally turning to Peter. “You okay?”

The question elicited another snort, “just peachy.”

The man leveled him an unimpressed stare, deciding to near the car instead. He watched as Tony pulled out the guns from inside, turning them over to inspect. In the back of his mind, he knew the action would’ve taken crossing the dead, or at least unconscious, bad guys’ bodies. It sent his stomach into a squirm fest.

“We’ll take these.”

Dragging himself onto his feet, Peter approached cautiously, “what for?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, and answered in a duh tone, “Pete, we don’t know how many of these men are out there. If they’re waiting for us, I can’t protect you without my suit, so this is the next best thing.”

He held out one of the guns and seemed confused when Peter didn’t grab it. “Come on kid, if you’re worried about not knowing how to shoot, that doesn’t really matter in this situation.”

“I’m sorry,” he had to drag the whisper from his throat, feeling it dry his mouth, but Peter wasn’t going to back down, “I can’t shoot someone.”

Tony seemed to have a reply on his tongue, ready to spit out a convincing argument, but a bang of metal resounded from behind him. Peter felt the danger before he saw it. Grabbing a hold of Tony’s wrist, he dragged the man behind him, bracing himself as he watched a figure climb out of the car. He stood, stumbling, clutching at his head.

The man had taken his mask off, revealing a middle-aged person with a bloody head. Peter almost felt bad, until, as he spotted them, he revealed a handgun from his belt. Instinct kicked in. One moment he was by Tony, the next he was running across to reach the bad guy. A shot fired out, and Peter slid, mud helping him reach the man’s legs, grabbing onto his ankle and pulling his feet. Down he went, but not before reaching back and firing at him. The car door, now wide open, was within reach. He grabbed it, ripping it off its hinges, and used it as a shield. The man kept shooting, but every bullet wedged into the metal until Peter was close enough to reach out and grab the man’s wrist. He could feel it break under his hand from the terse grip, and calling out an apology in his head, he gripped the handgun, bringing it down onto the man, successfully knocking him unconscious.

Staring down at the crumpled form, he really did feel bad.

It wasn’t until he breathed a sigh of relief, did his mind catch up. _Tony!_

_Tony was standing right behind him! Tony saw it all!_

He tried to breath and reasoned that he could explain. He’d mention the Oscorp trip and the radioactive spider, maybe even that he could’ve saved Ben, but ultimately, Spiderman would be kept a secret. _That’s a great plan._

Without much thought, he whipped around, coming face-to-face with a wide-eyed Tony.

“I have superpowers!”

“You’re Spiderman?”

Both blinked. An imaginary clock ticked in his head, watching Tony’s anger unfold on his face. Faintly, he could hear Tony’s words when Peter snuck into the lab on his 10th birthday: he screwed the pooch.

“Were you just planning to not tell me?” The question was incredulous, Tony’s face twisted into disbelief. “What the hell Peter? Why wasn’t I told? Does May know?”

When he opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, Peter stammered, “Well, you see, uh, I- I haven’t really told May.”

Tony seemed ready to barrage him with another set of questions, so Peter decided to intervene. “HowdidyouknowIwasSpiderman?”

Taking a moment to process the speedy question, his father responded with a, “Does it matter? What the hell do you think you’re doing, putting your life in danger like that? This isn’t a game Pete, you don’t get nine lives! You’re going out there-”

“Saving people! I’m helping people because they don’t have the power to fend for themselves!”

With a sigh, Peter thought Tony would back down, until the man uttered in a lower tone, “You’re grounded. And I’ll be telling May about this-,” Peter protested before getting shut down by his glare, “-I’ll put an end to this stupid idea.”

Floored, it took everything in Peter to not scream, or cry, or kick his feet up. “Spiderman isn’t a stupid idea! He helps people! I have these powers, what sort of person am I if I don’t use them to help!?”

“A smart one,” Tony snorted, already trudging through the forage, “we’ll talk more when we get back.”

“No.”

“No?” Tony turned and found Peter standing very still. “You don’t have a say in this kid, I’m the adult, I make the rules. Not to mention, kind of the dad in this situation.”

“You aren’t my dad,” the words were uttered lowly, but they were clear enough to arise a whispery what from Tony. “My dad was Richard Parker. He took care of me, and then Ben.”

A twinge of regret pained his chest, but not enough to stop the next words, “you swooped in when mom and dad died, to what!? To care for a kid you didn’t even want!? To make yourself feel better for the stupid mistakes you made!? I’m not your kid, you gave that up when you decided leaving me was a better option than sticking around!”

With that, he pushed forward, bypassing Tony as he followed the road.

By the time night fell, they were still trudging through the woods. It was a slow pace, and not a second of it was pleasant. His every fiber was numb, senses dulled in fatigue. Tony walked ahead, and every so often the man stumbled over a tree branch. Peter couldn’t see in the dark, his eyes nothing close to see-in-the-dark binoculars, but his sight was enough to keep him from tripping as much as the man in front of him.

Every rustle made his neck hairs stand, and the constant goosebumps that decorated his arms were unpleasant. Constant shivers wrecked his spine, and he would’ve shrunk into his blazer already like a turtle if it wasn’t for the fact he would trip.

The floor was uneven, made scarier by the fact that slippery moss and mud covered every inch. Any step could lead to face planting into a rock, and even if he had super healing, he wasn’t up for the itching pain that was a fresh scratch. The ones on his face already spiked at every tousle of the wind that brushed his cheeks. Though impossible, Peter was sure he’d lose his nose from how cold it was, positive it would slide off his face like a popsicle.

“Let’s camp out,” Tony said, pulling out his phone. The screen turned on, and Peter resisted the urge to question why he hadn’t used the flashlight till now. A harsh ray materialized, and Tony began pointing it at the floor, every so often picking up a stick.

_‘A campfire.’_

As Peter filled his hands with wood, he thought about the day.

Revealing he was Spiderman was not something he thought would happen. Tony seemed against the prospect, even beyond negotiating, and if he told May, it would spiral out of control. Not to mention, the immediate connection between him and Spiderman was concerning. Although Tony was a super-genius, he couldn’t risk the chances of someone else making that link.

Sucking up his pride, he asked-quite loudly-, “How’d you know I was Spiderman?”

The ruffling sound stopped, along with the swinging of the flashlight. Peter couldn’t see his face but Tony was probably taking time to lay out his response. A second later, the phone continued swinging, and leaves crunched. “Not a ton of heroes living in Queen.”

Peter whipped his head to stare at him, although it didn’t help much since all he could see was his silhouette. “And how do you know Spiderman lives in Queens?”

Sighing, he could make out the man turning to him, “do you really want me to point out all the reasons your secret identity failed?”

Ouch, that stung. Humphing, Peter turned back to collecting wood.

“I’ve been looking into Spiderman, or, I guess you, for a couple of months,” Tony said. “Didn’t really feel the need to uncover the person behind the mask, so I thought I’d at least have a file on how the guy worked. Works after school hours, operates in Queens, juvenile and quippy. Not to mention, short and pretty skinny for a guy with super strength.”

A lapse of silence passed before he whispered, “Why didn’t-in May’s case, haven’t-you told us about Spiderman?”

“If you guys found out then you’d freak out, case in point, this evening, and if you freak out, I freak out, and-,” realizing he was rambling, Peter inhaled sharply before turning in the direction of Tony, “when you can do the things I can, and then don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”

To that, Tony didn’t respond, and so the conversation ended there.

They gathered the wood, sitting down as Tony made the fire. He had a lighter, confessing to have swiped it from the crashed car. The smoke flitted through the trees, clouds disappearing into the dark sky. Peter watched, slightly out of it, not really processing what he was seeing. He and Tony’s conversations kept replaying in his head. Regret seeped through him. Tony wasn’t his dad, not in his mind; he could never connect the man to the word. But he cared for Tony, and deep down, he knew Tony cared for him. That he didn’t show it the same way as Richard or Ben wasn’t a flaw.

“You know, I met your mom at a burger joint,” it was a mere whisper, uttered from across the fire, “it was late at night, I was ditching a corporate party and decided to stop for a cheeseburger.” At that, he chuckled, but while Peter knew it was meant to alleviate the awkwardness, it sounded highly self-deprecating. “You know me and my cheeseburgers… Your mom, she was a scientist, well known for her papers. A few years older than me, dressed up yet looking like a complete mess. She approached me. Told me I look like shit, then sat down. Without asking by the way. That was Mary Parker. Always- always spontaneous.”

Peter didn’t know if it was a trick of the campfire lighting, but he thought he saw Tony’s eyes glisten. The way the man stumbled through his words clearly gave away he hadn’t thought about ever telling him this story. While it saddened him, he thought, with the way the man talked so… fondly of his mom, the relationship must’ve been more than a single fling.

Peter thought he was the product of Tony’s wild days, not planned and maybe even not necessarily wanted; but looking at the slumped shoulders across from him, he felt a twinge of guilt, because that wasn’t true. He wasn’t any better than the gossiping press, and without much thought, voiced his feelings, “I’m sorry.” From the other’s stunned expression, that wasn’t what he expected to hear, so with a clear of his throat, he continued, “I thought, I- I thought you guys just… had fun. And that you were irresponsible. Because… mom had stayed, and decided to keep me, but, but you left. And didn’t come back. Well, you did, but not until- not until it was… absolutely necessary. I- I judged you. For that. And I’m sorry.”

Tony seemed to smile, one full of fondness, and shook his head with a small laugh. “Kid, you… you always surprise me.” With a purse of his lips, he stared at Peter unmovingly, “You’re the best of us kid. Always have been.”

The sudden praise rose a glimmer of giddiness in his chest, and he fought to keep the smile from rising onto his face. With a bashful head duck, Peter absentmindedly played with the patch of grass next to him, words replaying in his head.

“And,” Peter raised his head to meet Tony’s gaze, the conversation thought to be over, “I’m sorry Peter, if I neglected you. Your mother and I- we had a mutual agreement to keep you out of my life. We thought it was too dangerous. But I’ve always loved you. You weren’t a mistake. You’re my kid, and I’ll always love you.”

It wasn’t a grand speech. The moment hadn’t gone like in his daydreams, where they would sit at a coffee shop, or at the park, and patiently thought out their words and had a very in-depth conversation. Nor was it tearful hugs or promises of living together. But it was their moment. Maybe it wasn’t satisfying enough for others, but it gave hope, for a better future. That’s all Peter needed.

“So,” Tony cleared his throat, hands clapping in that resolute manner when he’s made up his mind, “you’re in dire need of an upgrade. Top to bottom; I’ve already got some bluepri-”

“I- I’m sorry? I don’t understand what…”

Tony seemed even more confused, “A suit? For Spiderman? You didn’t seriously think I would let my son fight crime in a onesie.”

After that, conversation flowed. They talked all throughout the night, and when they fell silent, waiting for day to arrive, it was comfortable.

When the sun peaked through the leaves, and the sunrays fell with a beautiful glow, they set off, always making sure to keep the road in sight. The hike took a couple of hours, and in that time, they passed the time playing road trip games. Perhaps their laughter was a bit too loud, but slowly, as he memorized Tony’s grin and laughter lines, the way his whole body shook and he doubled down, belly full of chuckles, Peter found himself keeping the thoughts of danger at the back of his mind.

They walked and talked, and throughout midday, Tony deemed it safe enough to hitchhike by the road. So crawling up the ditch, still full of giggles because Tony kept slipping and cursing, they made their way up and over. At the top, as they began their trek down the road, Tony swung his hand over Peter’s shoulder. He was facing the other way, and although he was grinning, he also made it a point to not meet Peter’s eye.

Peter’s ears burned, and his cheeks hurt. Swinging his own hand around the man’s torso, both continued forward, ignoring all sweat, grime, and guns that made the position uncomfortable.

It was nearing noon when they stumbled across a parked car. Peter felt Tony shift him behind; while touched by the protective act, he also felt it was excessive. _Hello!_ _Superpowered vigilante here!_ Therefore, with an annoyed scowl at the older man, he walked around and continued forward, ignoring the indigent ‘hey!’ behind him.

Looking through the rolled down windows, a lone radio sat inside crackling. The car had no one inside, and no visible weapons either.

“Whoever’s car this is obviously doesn’t care if it rains,” he sent Tony a mischievous grin. With a sigh, the man came over. “You can’t just go up to suspicious cars,” he said, casting Peter a disappointed frown, “you’re asking to get killed.”

“It’s fine! I can’t hear anyone,” Peter shrugged, eyes rolling, “plus my spidey-sense isn’t going off.”

“Right, I keep forgetting you're enhanced.”

Peter smirked, “better get used to it.”

“Wait, what the hell is a spidey-se-”

A shot rang out. Then two. Then a whole barrage.

Both ducked beside the car to avoid the bullets. Each clang of metal rang loudly, the car shaking unstoppably with every penetrating pellet.

“No one around huh,” Tony gritted and peaked over the window. The window exploded into a mess of crystal, making him stumble onto his butt, hands coming up to avoid cuts. Peter stared, heartbeat racing. Kneeling onto the floor, he looked under to see how many there were. Only two.

“They only have handguns,” Tony said, hurrying to take off the rifles from his body. Peter grabbed one, before showing it to Tony, “is the safety turned on?”

“Yeah let me t-”

Peter nodded, shifting to carry it on his shoulder. Putting his hands on the car door, he pushed. A grunt of effort left him as the vehicle creaked, Tony listing off panicked questions in the background. When it toppled, he began to push it across the road, sparks flying as metal scratched against the asphalt. Sweat dripped down, and his muscles ached, but he continued until the shots sounded close enough to ring in his ears.

Pulling the rifle into his hands, he turned towards a gawking Tony, “I’m gonna disarm them.”

With that, he climbed over, facing two handgun barrels immediately pointed at him. Jumping down, he crouched to dodge the first array of bullets, kicking one while getting under the other, gripping his arm and flipping him over his shoulder.

A bullet grazed his arm. Hissing in pain, he stumbled, before flinging the handgun of the man under him into the roadside ditch. Another shot rang from beside him, and he prepared for the burning pain of a bullet. All the while, he knocked the man under him with the butt of the rifle, blood splattering onto the ground next to him. The man seemed too dazed to get up, so he faced the other.

Tony gave the guy a hard right hook, before forcing the man’s hand behind him, handgun dropping. It clattered to the floor, and Tony kicked it aside, towards Peter. Then, he clocked the butt of the rifle over his head. Unlike Peter’s, this one seemed to knock the guy out, body crumpling with alarming speed.

They turned to look at each other. Tony eyed him up and down. “Alright, that jumping into danger thing? That’s gotta stop.”

Peter pursed his lips, nodding.

“It was a good plan; would’ve loved if you had told me beforehand, but sure, bench the veteran superhero.”

Despite the complaint, Peter preened at the compliment, “Spiderman doesn’t work a lot with others. Guess I’m not used to it.”

Nodding, Tony began rambling to himself, about training plans and gun identification and whatever else a teenage vigilante needs to learn. Ultimately, both continued their walking, conversation spiraling into whatever Peter would need as a superhero. While talking with Ned about Spiderman was fun, they could never actually seriously talk about what would make heroing better, more efficient. This was fun, he decided.

Seeing the buildings rise in the horizon was a chance to breathe in relief. Hiking the guns up his shoulder, Tony watched as Peter, too tired to run, jogged forward, laughing hysterically. While Peter thought he might look a bit insane, the elation in his chest at having a chance to finally rest, and not paranoically watch his surroundings was a welcome one. Looking back, Tony also had a grin, so he settled with not insane, just a bit crazy.

It was a small town, nothing like in wild-west movies, but the streets were as deserted as on TV. A kind granny, who was rolling her groceries in a small cart, blinked at them before starting to fret. “Oh dear, oh my! What happened to you? Dear me, come, come!”

Precaution out the window, both followed her as she introduced herself as Daisy. When Peter introduced himself, she cooed, “My nephew is also a Peter. A little 5-year-old, he’s a real tike.”

Arriving at a bed-and-breakfast, she sat them down in the lobby chairs, some surprisingly sturdy ancient furniture. “Please, you can use the desk phone. I’ll get you some food and towels, hmm?”

Tony left to make phone calls, so Peter sank into his chair.

The place was cozy, all browns and natural lighting. The scent of flowers was greatly appreciated, no longer able to stand the smell of his own sweat. At the corner, a square TV sat, looking out of date. It was muted, but a news broadcast was playing. It showed pictures of politicians, what looked to be a big fire in Italy, and then Tony’s face popped up. While none of the details were provided, the news anchor flapping his lips without sound, the headline was scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

**STARK INC. GALA ATTACKED. TONY STARK MISSING.**

He sat up straighter but ultimately stayed in his seat as they flashed photos of the night of the Gala. It ranged from guests smiling and chatting, to photos of the masked men storming the place.

Tony re-entered the room, pausing at the doorway to take in the TV display, before flopping into his chair. “Of course.”

Peter snickered at that, too emotionally drained to think if it was insensitive, “you gotta stop getting kidnapped.”

Tony followed along, chuckling, “how was your first kidnapping?”

“Five out of ten on yelp. The bad guys were kinda dumb.”

At that Tony barked out a laugh. Daisy returned, towels, bottles of water, and chip bags all cradled in her hands. There they stayed, lounging and watching an old romance drama they were re-running. Between making jokes about the obvious staged set on the show, they munched on junk food, shoes kicked off and blazers handing on the coffee table, white-collars unbuttoned. They had tried cleaning off most of the dirt, but the suits would stay ruined with mud stains. Daisy brought disinfectant for their hands, and some ice for Peter’s bruises and both relaxed.

The guns lay forgotten beside the chair, and while Daisy had seemed put off by having them inside, she steered clear of them instead of actively forcing them to put them outside. Bad memories, she said.

It wasn’t until the fourth episode of Love In A Bakery, in the middle of Paula’s declaration of love to Gabriel, did Peter pick up on ambulance sirens in the distance.

“Think they’re here.” He mumbled, mouth full of chips. Tony nodded, getting up to stand at the entrance. Peter hurried to follow him, dumping the rest of the bag into his mouth before throwing it away.

As two cars pulled up, plus an ambulance, doors were thrown open as heads popped out. He could make out Pepper’s red hair, as well as Rhodey, and watched with a small smile as they ran over to Tony, hugging him in a frenzy. At the corner of his sight, he caught a glimpse of a red dress twinkling in the sun. Hopping off the porch, he met her halfway, already melting into her embrace.

“You brat,” she murmured into his hair, hands shaking as she raked his hair, “don’t ever hang up on me again.”

Letting out a watery laugh, he pulled back to look at her crooked makeup, the same as the Gala, “Aunt May, you look even worse than me.”

She slapped his arm before pulling him into another hug, “oh sweetie you smell like trash.”

They pulled apart once more, sharing teary smiles. May cleared her throat, wiping at her eyes, “we’ll talk about that stunt you pulled later, let’s get you home.”

“Peter,” a voice called. They turned to face Pepper Potts, although she didn't quite look like her CEO self. She wore sweatpants and a hoodie which covered her fingers, hair thrown up into a messy bun. Pepper was always pretty, and despite her appearance being that of a person who hasn’t slept or showered in days, she looks as stunning and intimidating as always. “Tony tells me you saved his life.”

“It-it's fine, I know he would do the same.”

“You bet I would,” the man in question appeared, swinging an arm over Pepper’s shoulder, “although that’s not the point. You did save my life. Thanks kid.”

Rhodey also came up, giving him a pat on the shoulder, “my nephew’s a cool teenager now.”

“What does that even mean?” Peter’s despair was met with laughs.

From there it was getting checked up by the ambulance, saying their goodbyes to Daisy (Peter promised to become her penpal), and making their way into the cars, ready for a long drive to New York.

While inside, Tony leaned over and inspected Peter’s hands. “Brand new. You weren’t kidding about that super healing.”

Peter watched as Tony leaned back, huffing.

“Alright, guess my son’s a hero now.”


End file.
